The AntiMortality Incentive
by The Blue Fenix
Summary: The Middleman made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world. He also survived, but Wendy Watson is worried about the price he had to pay. REVISED first chapter, second and third chapter added.
1. Chapter 1

The Anti-Mortality Incentive

For Porn Battle XII

Prompts: MM/WW, first time, partner, impulse, tired.

Middleman HQ

Three weeks after the end of the world

1:45 am

The Middleman didn't belong in the control room in the middle of the night, but it made more sense than staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. He hadn't really slept well since the supernatural power of Chac-Mol saved the world at the cost of changing reality.

He'd found a prototype electric handgun in a corner of the archive room. Cleaning it with machine oil and Q-tips was something productive, a tiny step toward making the world better. Ida, as a robot, was awake at all times anyway. The Middleman glanced over at her, keyed in a command on the control panel himself.

Wendy had left headquarters at the regular time. She'd talked about a special date night with Tyler before he left on his music tour. By now she was undoubtedly snug in bed somewhere, with a code 86 locking headquarters out of her video watch. But a simple locator ping wouldn't disturb her. If some mission came up tonight, knowing where to go get her might save precious time.

The readout made him blink. Wendy wasn't at home, hers or Tyler's. She was less than a hundred feet from him, on another floor at headquarters. A quick look at her watch telemetry showed no code 86, and darkness. "Ida. Wendy is here."

The robot barely looked up from her online mahjong. "Oh, yeah," she said carelessly. "Drama queen came in the back door about ten. You were in the gym at the time. She's in the building someplace."

His fists clenched. "Ida, why..."

The robot made a derisive noise. "She didn't ask for you. You didn't need her for anything. She's authorized to be here. Why bring up the whole sordid subject." Ida paused, consulting data files. "One of the witness protection suites, level four. She went straight there, hasn't come out."

"Is she all right?" Drama queen. "Did she seem upset?"

"Am I my stoner's keeper? If she's flaked out, it's not my problem. Also I'm not surprised."

The Middleman made himself breathe deeply. Taking a swing at the robot would be pointless, ineffective, and possibly dangerous. "For future reference," he said through gritted teeth, "If Dubbie is upset or behaving out of pattern, it _is_ mission-critical. Because _she_ is. Once she's in command she'll have every right – and capability – to flush your memory back to its default state. I'll make a point of telling her that. If you indulge in this kind of petty vindictiveness again, I might do it myself." He headed for the stairs.

[*]

The on-site suites were secure but as comfortless as cheap motel rooms. Sensei Ping had used the Grip of Extreme Agony on the then-Middleman the one time they'd asked him to stay in one. The current Middleman was mildly surprised his trainee knew they existed. She must have been reading operational manuals. Only one room on the fourth floor had the green in-use light on above the door. He knocked quietly. "Dubbie?" Nothing. He overrode the lock.

The light from the hallway showed her in bed, curled under the covers so tightly that she looked child-sized. But her eyes were wide open, in the dark. She hadn't been sleeping, even a troubled sleep. Very softly, "Dubbie." She flinched, hands balled into fists. "It's just me."

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. "I'm going to turn on a light." The bedside lamp. "You're at HQ. Try some deep breaths." He closed the door behind him.

Wendy shivered and looked at him with recognition. "Sorry, boss. I just wanted somewhere quiet."

She wore civilian clothes under the bedcovers, a satiny pale dress he'd never seen before. One side was crumpled up over her hips in a way that shouldn't be so distracting. Wendy noticed that he kept watching her, put her own interpretation on the attention. "I'm fine."

_ You're nowhere near fine. And I didn't see it. _Wendy had been quiet the last few weeks, especially about her life outside work. Like a self-centered fool, he'd assumed she didn't want to upset him by discussing Lacey. He sat down on the edge of the bed, not too close to her. "You nearly died," the Middleman said. "You saw people you love dead or dying, the near-destruction of the human race. Anyone who's been in combat pays a price. But usually everyone else _knows_ they've seen combat. Knows there's been a war in the first place. You and I don't have that advantage."

She nodded. "It's like the palindrome universe again," Wendy said. "But the old world is gone, no going back. Lacey, Tyler … I know it all never happened for them, but I can't feel that. I just blew up at them. I want … I want my _real_ friends, and I know that's never going to happen."

Her best friend Lacey had been in love with the Middleman, until changing reality to undo the apocalypse made Lacey forget she ever knew him. Tyler had fought alongside them to save the world but hadn't saved himself. "Their essential natures haven't changed, only a few memories," the Middleman said. "If Tyler became involved in one of our missions again, he'd comport himself just as bravely. And Lacey is still the same girl she always was."

Wendy shook all over. "You can't prove it by me."

"Is this about Lacey?"

She nodded again, too fast. "Mostly. Partly... I just lost it. One too many stories about Perfect Warren being perfect. I guess I was thinking, if I even _was_ thinking, that if I reminded her about you there'd be a chance. I said more and more stuff about you and she just didn't track. Like most of what I said faded out as soon as she heard it. And I realized, _that_ was the ultimate sacrifice. We both thought you'd die, but instead you lost Lacey." A moment of clarity. "You weren't afraid enough of death for death to be ultimate. Because you'd be with _her_ again, in the afterlife." Raveena had been with them at the end, among the ghosts of a thousand other Middlemen. She'd made a powerful impression on her student's student.

"I … wouldn't be surprised if you were right, Dubbie. Good insight." He'd drowned himself in his work when Raveena died, renouncing all emotional outlets but seeing her again. Between afterlife with her or mortal life with Lacey, he'd achieved neither.

Wendy sat up straighter in bed, trying to achieve some kind of composure. "So to Lacey, I've gone crazy. I'm telling her she said and did all this stuff she doesn't remember. We're both getting irritated, and I couldn't figure out how we could stop the argument. And then it hit me, what if it worked? What if she loved you again, would that ... put things back? Suddenly what's _ultimate_ changes, so she knows you but you're dead. That thought... I lost it. Tyler turned up and I lost it at him, too." A sound of pain just short of explosive weeping. Wendy reached out, clung to him as if trying to be a human shield.

The Middleman guided her head to his shoulder and let her stay. The soft, scented warmth against him opened floodgates inappropriate for a teacher and mentor. He stayed very still, tried to allow her touch without reacting. "I should have talked this out with you long ago," he said. More hastily, "The curse of Chac-Mol, I mean. I'm not going to die from it, not at this late date. I know that much." He'd been somewhere else between the old and new universes, in a place of marble hallways and mist. Standing before beings awe-inspiring to the point of terror. He couldn't remember the words they'd said – if they used words – but the meaning was etched deeply in his brain. "Causality is stable again, Dubbie. The path of least resistance is … well, you saw. I'm not on Lacey's emotional map. I never will be, not if we met every day for ten years. But we're both alive, and I'm glad she's happy. I'll manage."

"Is the ultimate sacrifice just Lacey, or is it everyone? If nobody's ever going to love you again …" Wendy's voice cut off.

He shrugged. "Either way, two chances at true love are more than most people get."

Wendy chewed her lower lip. "You're right, we have to talk about this. Did you do it on purpose? The whatcha-ma-goober was supposed to give the user godlike powers. When you changed the world, did you _decide_ to drive Lacey away from you? Or was it just the only way things could happen?"

"The polyditetrahexamonotrioctalon. It's hard to explain." He had understood it all, for one godlike moment, but that moment was long past. "A little of both. The universe has its own momentum. Changes that flow with that momentum are – were – easy, others might be almost impossible. Maybe Lacey and I could have been together. But she always would have been in danger, that close to me. The reasons for not dating her are as strong as they ever were. The change in universes just made it possible to implement that decision without causing pain."

"No pain for Lacey, you mean." He didn't answer. Wendy looked away from him. "I have another question. Tyler's music career."

Stalled to nothing in the old universe, rocketing to great success in the new one. "That was … a bit of a push. Not much of one; he has the talent and the drive. And he died trying to save the world. Even though he doesn't know it any more. That deserves some kind of reward."

"You were going to die, too," Wendy said. "What reward did you get?"

The Middleman looked blank. "Question three," Wendy went on. "Am I ready to be a Middleperson? Middlewoman. Am I ready to be you?"

He thought she'd understood that much, at least, when they stood before the ghosts of all the world's Middlemen and said goodbye. Warmly, "Of course you are."

Wendy moved suddenly, twisting in his arms. He let go, confused, but she wasn't pulling away. Instead she was all but climbing his body, chest to chest. He overbalanced and fell back on the bed. Wendy pounced with a force that he recognized as desperation, pressing their lips together too hard and off center. He told himself firmly that this wasn't an attack, whatever it was. He fought off a dozen combat reflexes that could have hurt her. Wendy shifted on top of him...

Warmth. It was a kiss now, unmistakably, welding them together like lightning. His arms went around Wendy. Her curves pressed down on him. Everything he'd ever denied himself. His tongue was deep in her mouth when he remembered he wasn't here for this. He tried to end the kiss but she kept pressing forward, clinging to him. He turned his head. "Dubbie. We can't."

"Stay with me." She sank her teeth possessively into his neck above the shirt collar. "Anything you want. Just don't _leave_." The rising almost-wail on the last word meant something far more catastrophic than leaving the room.

"Dubbie. Wendy." She wasn't listening, and her training had left her far stronger than an outsider would suspect. He had to hold her at arm's length by main force to sit up. She wormed out of his grip and came forward again; he retreated to his feet. "Wendy. Please."

She knelt upright on the bed, dress more disarrayed than ever, her dark eyes huge. "Sorry." A tear slid down her right cheek. She ignored it.

He'd never been any good with crying women. Tenderness and worry and frustrated lust pulled him in different directions. He held up both hands. "Dubbie. Can we … can we just talk a minute? I don't understand."

"_Stupid_." She clearly meant herself; the venom in the word made him cringe. "I just ..." A loud, undignified sniffle. Wendy wiped across her face with the back of one hand. "You live for the job. Only for the job. You told me, you swore to give everything else up in _her_ honor." Raveena. His mentor, his Middleman, the woman he'd once loved like the moon and stars. "And when I saw you together, when you went to your death _happy_ … because you could be with her again. There wasn't anything to keep you here, keep you alive. Not Lacey, certainly not me. And I realized the only thing you stayed for was … the job, of course. You couldn't leave the job until I was ready.

"But now I am. You don't have to wait any more. You can find another chance to sacrifice yourself for the world, some mission. Like _that's_ going to be hard to do."

"You're trying to keep me alive." That tore at his heart. He didn't know what was stronger in reaction, fondness or frustration.

"Uh-huh." Rapid, uncoordinated nodding. "It's mean and it's selfish and I'm not going to stop."

"Even if you have to offer yourself." He was touched.

Wendy looked up wildly, a lopsided smile on her face. "_Have_ to?"

Her eyes were locked on him and he couldn't look away. His back brain dryly cataloged all the kinds of fool he'd been. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears. Because the rest of him was remembering that frantic, fumbling kiss. Which didn't have to be the only one, or the full extent of what he could have...

His mouth came open and said something. Playing back short-term memory, it appeared to have been "Tyler."

Wendy sighed. "Tyler's gone. For good. It was that kind of blowup."

"I'm sorry." Most of him, the part that had been her friend and confidante for a year, meant it. The younger man really was good enough for Dubbie, or almost.

"We were never going to last. Not in the new universe." Wendy wasn't looking at him. "We didn't want the same things. Besides," then her dark eyes did focus on him, palpable as a touch, "I saw him die. I thought I saw you die, too. That really clarifies who's most important."

She shook herself, and looked away, and awkwardly re-settled her clothing. "But stomping all over your boundaries isn't going to make anything better. I'm sorry. Not that I tried to keep you alive, I still want that. Sorry I screwed it up so phenomenally."

"I … didn't realize you were afraid for me." That she'd seen what his subconscious was driving toward, maybe more clearly than he'd seen himself. "It would be unconscionable to leave you that kind of burden. You're right about that. I suppose..." He owed her so much. "I'll do my very best to stay alive." Subject to the requirements of the service, but she knew that.

Dubbie looked into his eyes and relaxed. That tore at his heart too, seeing how much she trusted him. She stifled a yawn. "Thanks."

At least he'd gotten an hour or two of rest at the beginning of the night. She'd apparently had none. "You should sleep."

She settled herself under the covers. "Can you stay?" Her expression tightened. "I mean. Boss. If you don't mind sitting with me a little while." She glanced over at an armless chair, on the far side of the nightstand.

"I can do better than that." Wendy had taken the side of the bed closest to the wall. He lay down beside her on top of the covers, loosened his tie. "I'll feel better too, if I know you're all right."

It was the right decision. She stopped fighting her exhaustion. He could feel through the mattress how tense she'd been, how much she needed comfort. "I won't try anything," Wendy said sleepily, eyes closed. They laid their heads on adjoining pillows.

[*]

He woke gradually and naturally, without even an alarm clock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had that luxury. A strange bed, his feet were hanging over the end a little. The stiff stale feeling of having slept in his clothes. But comfort on a far deeper level. Softness and warmth. He slid up past a few more layers of sleep and identified the sensation as a woman lying in his arms. Dubbie.

The covers still separated them, but she'd snuggled in close. Head on his shoulder, silky hair against his cheek. She smelled wonderful. His body responded with a raging erection that took him back to his teenage years. They were spooned together, lying on their sides, and he worried that the insistent pressure against her lower back would wake her up. He moved backward a little. Dubbie mumbled and shifted, closing the distance again.

_ It's probably time I stopped lying to myself. _ Nearly a year of camaraderie, of frequently – suspiciously frequently – talking about Wendy like a sister or a daughter. All shattered by one impudent physical fact. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Was that good news or a disaster in the making? At this moment, body to body, it was shamefully hard to care about the difference. That one passionate, doomed kiss with Lacey had been all that happened to him in … he knew the exact number of days, curse having an eidetic memory, but he preferred not to think about it.

Too much navel gazing, too little action had never been one of his character flaws. They had to settle this. Waiting wouldn't improve it. He let go of Wendy, got out of bed. Warmth and consolation gone, she felt blindly over the mattress for him before opening her eyes. "Boss." She came awake faster than he had. She looked around, noted his fully clothed state. "I guess we didn't."

"We didn't. And I think we shouldn't." Wendy looked disappointed; worse, worried. He hastened to add, "At least not like this. I think... you may have an overly idealized image of me."

One corner of her mouth quirked up, as if he'd woken her sense of the ridiculous. "Of the Middleman, who made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world."

"That doesn't make me a good lover," he said bluntly. "Perhaps the opposite. I'm selfish, when I give myself free rein. Almost jealous sometimes. I don't share worth a … anything, and I'm not interested in learning. So anything we have, short or long, I'd need it to be exclusive."

Wendy nodded, acknowledged the point. "I know you. And you know me."

He knew her habit of serial monogamy, of course. It was in her dossier. But he didn't dare offer her less than complete clarity at a moment this important.

He felt like a fool, standing over her while she was in bed. He sat down on the edge. Wendy swung her feet to the floor and sat up beside him. "If you think I'm bullheaded when a mission is at stake, you should see me when I feel needy," he said. "I've probably gotten worse about that, whether it's age or spending this much time alone."

Wendy moved a little closer. "The cure for needy is getting your needs met. You don't have to be alone."

The Middleman looked away. Brutally, "One of us will be, sooner or later. That's an absolute certainty in this job. I promised you I won't _try_ to die, and I'll hold to that. But if there's a moment of choice, you or me … I can't do that again. Instead I'll make you carry the weight of survival."

Wendy smiled tightly. "Like that's a change. You were never going to let me die."

The woman was impossible. "You're also assuming that we're sexually compatible. We might not be." He closed his mind firmly on the memory of that kiss.

Wendy's smile grew warmer, broader. "That sounds really scary. Whatever shall I do?"

"On top of everything else, I'll be da... I have no idea what we're going to do together apart from missions and sex. Because that's nearly all we have in common."

"We might have to grow as people or something."

"Dubbie. This could be a fiasco."

"I only see two things in favor of the idea. Who you are, and who I am." Dubbie laid a hand on his shoulder. "Anyway, you don't have to give long explanations if you don't want me. You just have to say no, and it's no. If I keep on wanting you after that, it's my problem."

They stayed frozen for a second. "You know I can't," he said hoarsely, and pulled her in.

Wendy was strong and supple against him, her slender body hiding wiry combat-trained muscle. But the points of her hipbones were too prominent; he resolved to take better care of her. His hands moved over her back and hips. Her mouth felt warm, tasted sweet. It let him in at the first touch of a tongue-tip.

His aching erection pressed against her belly, wired for seconds not minutes. But there was a solution to that problem. When Wendy curled up beside him he pulled on her, guided her until she was straddling his lap. He groaned at the pressure through two sets of clothes but kept control, for now. He dragged himself away from her mouth, ran a line of kisses down the side of her neck to the collarbone. Fumbled with the shoulder straps of the silky little dress. No bra between him and the small, high breasts. She yelped when his mouth closed over one nipple. He cupped the other, felt it harden against his palm. He couldn't decide which was more sensitive, sucking on one after the other. Wendy was moaning, not his name but _boss_; her voice only made him harder.

He shifted suddenly, rucked the bottom half of the dress up around her waist to meet the top. A wisp of panties, little more than a thong, easy to work around. He felt an instant's fear of hurting her, but slid fingers inside. She was wet and hot, wide open to him. She squeezed around his hand and made a raw, wild sound. When he found the hard little knot of her G-spot the noise started again. He held her firmly in place, his other hand against her lower back, and kept pleasuring her. Wendy clawed at his back and shoulders, sank her teeth in the side of his neck to muffle her screams. His ears were ringing. He couldn't care less.

"Fuck," Wendy demanded in his ear, a low growl. "Please, God. I've been waiting all my life for you to fuck me."

He lifted her and deposited her on her back on the bed. Her hands went to her mound, keeping things warm. Climbed awkwardly to his feet. Every part of the uniform – tie, cufflinks, buttons, belt – was a separate puzzle. He'd fumbled himself naked when he remembered something else. "I don't have a condom."

"The Pill," Wendy gasped. "I'm good." She wrapped both hands around his naked cock, and he lost all will to refuse her.

He knelt between her legs and was inside her, flesh to flesh. Wendy made a sharp sound. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. He tried to move slowly; she grabbed his buttocks and pulled forward. "Come for me," she said against his skin. "Fast and hard. We've got time for gentle after we take the edge off."

He thrust down into her; she pumped up to meet him. Pure frenzy. He couldn't count the strokes, his brain had shut down, but in another moment he was exploding. Wendy clung to him, shuddered with one more orgasm of her own.

His pounding blood slowed; the room was quiet. Under him, Wendy made a squashed noise. He moved to one side. "Sorry."

"Now _that_ is not a description I'd use." Her voice was low and lazy, contented. They were both sweaty, but she snuggled close to his side. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you." He barely had the energy to look around. When he did, he felt mild surprise the walls were still standing.

Silences between them had never been awkward. This one stretched out. Embarrassment led to something perilously like panic. He said, "Dubbie, we didn't say..." just as she said "Boss, you don't..."

"After you," the Middleman said. That _don't_ was ominous.

"Just that, I know about you and responsibilities," Wendy said. "You're the old-fashioned guy, you serve and protect. I want you to know, this doesn't mean you owe me. Not a relationship, not a ring, not even a rematch. If this feels like one and done, for you, I can deal. I can deal, and I can go on being your partner."

"Is that what you want?" A primitive part of his brain was howling in possessiveness and fear. He did his best to stifle it.

"God." Wendy looked away. "Do you not own a mirror? You're, you're gorgeous. And you just gave me a string of orgasms that practically knocked my teeth loose. And you're _Boss_, wonderful and weird and crazy-making. It's all good stuff, but I don't know how to line it up in my head. I don't know if this is the smartest thing I ever did, or the biggest mistake of my life." She offered a wilted smile. "Definitely one of those. I love you. I do, I always have. But I don't know if it's true love. Vampire-transforming, back-from-the-dead, all-out _in_ _love_ true love. I do know that's what you deserve."

She was staying in his arms, that was a good sign. He held her and thought. "It helps, what you said about the partnership. Being who I am, that's always going to come first. I can't change that about myself." Couldn't even try. "As for one and done, good heavens no. You can have as much sex as you want. With me, I mean. No strings attached, unless and until you want otherwise." She had to know she was free, in preparation for the moment when she came to her senses. It would surely come. His arms tightened around her at the thought. He forced them to relax.

Wendy squeezed closer to him. "I have two suggestions. Partner."

He'd agree to practically anything. "Of course."

"Showers. And breakfast." She kissed him thoughtfully on the cheek. "Anything else can wait."

[*]


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Wendy Watson pulled her outfit back together. The little silver dress (she didn't like black, for a date) hadn't actually come off her at any point. But it had had a hard night. First slept in, then pushed vigorously aside and pretty well rolled around her waist from both directions. The matching panties - she'd skipped a bra – were in much the same condition.

She'd planned for sex when she got dressed to go out last night. Just – and she told herself it was _not_ slutty, just special circumstances – not with the man she'd ended up in bed with.

He was dressing too, in the windowless little room that could have come straight out of any low-end motel. He buttoned his dress shirt but left the shirttail hanging loose. Wendy had seen the Middleman naked – more than seen, now – but she'd never seen him this informal. He bundled his uniform jacket and other equipment under his arm. "I have a shower upstairs, in my living quarters," he said. Of _course_ he lived at Middleman HQ. God forbid he might be delayed five minutes answering a call to duty. "Do you mind using the one in the locker room? All your clothes are there."

"Yeah, I'm good." Wendy tried to remember if she'd left any civilian clothes in her locker, or just uniforms. "I'll see you in a few."

He hesitated. As partners and friends, they touched without thinking about it. In the last half hour, they'd rutted all over each other. All the rules were in flux. Wendy kind-of smiled, acknowledging the awkwardness.

He relaxed a little. He was usually so serious, so controlled. Now she got the rarest smile of all; the off-center, incandescent grin of the goofy teenager he'd obviously once been. Wendy couldn't help smiling back. He cradled her chin, traced the full line of her lower lip with a thumb-tip. "Dubbie," he murmured, and fit his lips over hers. A considered, considerate kiss a thousand miles away from the out-of-control frenzy that had gripped both of them a few minutes before. Against her mouth, "Don't be long." When he drew back, the grin was bigger than ever.

[*]

Wendy stripped down in the locker room. If she'd thought about it – and she hadn't, much – she would have expected a respectful, gentlemanly sexual style from the Middleman. In the event, he'd been all over her. No wonder; the man hadn't had sex in what was probably literal years. There wasn't a mark on Wendy's skin, but parts of her felt sore and stretched. She had no complaints. She wasn't sure she'd ever gotten that many orgasms in one session, let alone a first time. It was just ... tiring.

She'd had a fight, the last fight, with her boyfriend Tyler last night. But that wasn't why she'd wound up in bed with her boss. She'd come to HQ looking for quiet, not a hookup. It wasn't love, or even straightforward lust; it was mathematics.

One. The woman he really loved, his old partner Raveena Rao. The death that had left the Middleman as Wendy had found him – quietly content in his work, world-class competent at it, but rejecting the rest of the world as he waited to join Raveena.

Two. Wendy's own roommate, Lacey. The Middleman had come to love her despite their vast personality differences. Had worked through who knew how much grief, to the point of acting on that love, when an apocalypse intervened. The Middleman had saved the world as usual, saved Lacey in doing so. But she'd forgotten about him. _I'm not on Lacey's emotional map,_ he'd said. _I never will be, not if we met every day for ten years. _Wendy knew his own feelings were unchanged. _Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds..._

Three. That left good old, reliable Wendy. Even Tyler had gone through a brief Lacey phase before connecting with her. Funny how _that_ thought hadn't hurt. Thank God Wendy had been honest with the Middleman. She hadn't asked him to love her; it would be horrible if he'd felt obligated or burdened. She'd just used the oldest positive reinforcement in the book to motivate him to stay alive. Outside the range of that radiant smile she felt a little – no, a lot – cheap. She hadn't lied. But she'd used sex for a purpose other than simply expressing love, and that wasn't something she'd ever done before.

_It's a good cause. _And it wasn't like she'd pretended to true love.She hadn't used his name, or any endearments. Just _boss_, her usual way of addressing him. And once, _partner_.

That was the right approach, partners. Saving the world together, working together, sleeping together. Wendy didn't expect to mend his broken heart with that kind of second-best. But repeated sex would work on his subconscious, incline his gut reactions toward survival instead of sacrifice. That was more important than anything else Wendy could be doing with her time. Take care of the partnership. Never mind that he didn't exactly love her and she didn't exactly love him.

Wendy turned the hot water on full, ducked her head under the nozzle. Anybody might need a good cry once in a while.

[*]

Wendy was bright-eyed and neatly dressed in uniform when she left the locker room. The Middleman waited outside, back to his usual white-glove-inspection self. "You mentioned breakfast," he said cheerfully. "Eggs?"

"Depends on where." Wendy's first thought was the Batter of the Bulge, a World-War-Two-themed diner where she and Tyler had had their third date.

"A new place. You'll like it."

Heading for the garage necessarily took them through their main control room. Ida was exactly where the Middleman had left her last night, in front of the silver HEYDAR ball.

She wore the expression of someone who had gone hang-gliding through Hell.

_I didn't set a code 86 on the Middlewatch to lock her out of monitoring us, _was Wendy's first thought. The second, _and neither did he._ Ida, whose contempt for 'meatbags' was only exceeded by her personal dislike of Wendy, had gotten the whole thing in stereo.

She saw the Middleman get it at the same instant. "Ida," he said, frowning, "I'd like to apol..."

Ida held her hand up. "We will never speak of this," she said stiffly. "_Ever_." The robot turned and walked away.

Wendy got all the way to the garage before she burst out laughing.

[*]

Wendy took a quiet moment to text Lacey in the car. _ Sry I ws jerk forgive?_ In a few minutes she got a line of smileys back. She relaxed, but didn't share the exchange with the man beside her. Bringing up Lacey to him felt questionable right now. As she paid more attention, she noticed they were heading for the outskirts of town. "Where are we going?"

He smiled. "It's a surprise."

They drove in silence for a while. Wendy found herself studying the Middleman from a whole new perspective, as boyfriend material. Not that 'boy' was the right word. From a story – almost the only one he'd shared – about his high school days, he had to be about twelve years older than Wendy. Normally she wouldn't even consider that kind of age gap. It wasn't like he looked younger than his age, either. His classic bones would always be beautiful but the lines were there, marks of half a lifetime of thought and worry and stress. That only made Wendy want to soothe them.

Half a normal lifetime. Neither of them should be making plans for old age. The previous Middleman had died of natural causes; most of them weren't so lucky. _If he's going to be happy, it has to be here and now. _The thought made Wendy all the more set in her decision.

"I was meaning to ask, Dubbie. What school of feminism do you prefer?"

Wendy came back to the present. And stared. "Do I what?"

"I haven't always understood you as well as a partner should, especially if we intend to carry on on a more personal level," the Middleman said. "I thought it might help if I researched your ideological underpinnings. I gather the differences between sections of the movement can be intensely felt."

Every time he got onto a tangent like this, Wendy was unsure whether to start laughing or to speak in very small words. She chose laughter, or at least a smile. "I'm a girl. Person. Not a movement. A bunch of women with a 'y' don't tell me what to think any more than a bunch of men do." She thought. "If I do something confusing? Just ask. I'll try to make as much sense as I can." He looked relieved.

The Middlemobile had stopped. "Where are we?" Wendy asked. The answer appeared to be, an honest-to-bleep farm, if a small one, jammed in between two suburban blocks. Green grass, red barn, black and white cows, white farmhouse, all as classic and incongruous as a child's crayon drawing.

"The Creamery," the Middleman said happily. "They know me here. Absolutely fresh milk, and eggs. Lately they've opened a breakfast counter." He circled the car and opened her door for her. "Care to join me?"

The breakfast room inside was tiny, clean, and gleaming white and silver. A smiling woman set a glass of milk in front of the Middleman without being asked. "Black coffee, thanks," Wendy said.

The coffee came quickly. Wendy leaned over the cup and breathed steam. "There are some things I ought to tell you," she said quietly.

Wendy's Room

The Illegal Sublet She Shares With An Equally Photogenic Young Artist

Earlier Last Night

Lacey had that vague expression she got when Wendy talked about the Middleman. The power of Chac-Mol continuously taking away the words, or at least their emotional import, as soon as they were spoken. "I'm sure your bossman is very nice," Lacey conceded. Which was more than Wendy usually got at these moments. "And I'm gonna meet him at some point. But can we concentrate on what's really important? Which is, that Tyler and Warren are going to be here any minute, and you're not ready?"

"You did meet him." Wendy slid the new, glossy silver dress on over her head. "You've met him dozens of times, you just don't remember it. You danced together on a yacht 86 feet longer than the _Titanic_. You saw part of a cowboy movie together. You kissed him." The memory of seeing the end of that kiss, via the Middlewatches, was as vivid in Wendy's mind as it was absent from Lacey's.

"I know you like working with him." Lacey's attention was arrested as she looked at Wendy's dresser. "Can I borrow the green earrings? I promise I won't lose them." She and Warren planned to stay in tonight, while Tyler and Wendy went out for dinner.

Lacey continued, "It's natural for anybody to want their friends to be friends with their other friends. But I don't know why you keep trying to set me up on a date or something. I'm with Warren." The alertness returned to her eyes as she found a non-Middleman subject to discuss. "That's it, isn't it? You've got something against Warren."

Wendy spoke louder than she'd intended. "I have nothing against Perfect Warren. Perfect Warren is perfect." If you liked over-privileged second-generation flower children who obsessed about recycling to hide their own carbon footprints from themselves. "I'm just saying, Boss..."

"What does it matter?" Lacey was drifting off again. "How is anything going to be different if I do?"

An idea appeared whole in Wendy's mind, with the force of fact not theory. The Middleman had used the power of Chac-Mol to save the world, knowing the Mayan goddess would exact the ultimate sacrifice in return. They'd all expected Chac-Mol would claim his life. Instead it had struck at his love for Lacey, permanently removing him from her mental horizon. If Wendy succeeded in undoing that sacrifice, wouldn't another one have to replace it?

He'd die. He'd die, and Wendy would be alone with the Middle-vocation in a world that wasn't truly hers. The thought stabbed her like a sacrificial dagger to the heart, brought tears to her eyes. She had to give up, forever, any hope of having her best friend and her best … Middleman happy together. Wendy turned aside, reaching for a hairbrush, so Lacey wouldn't see her crying.

A token knock on the door downstairs, followed by the sound of someone using their own key; that meant either Tyler or Warren. Lacey brightened and wandered down.

Wendy sat down, numbly, on the side of the bed. She'd nearly destroyed the Middleman. He could die, because of her. She pulled the Middlewatch around her wrist until she could see the face of it, checked the time. Boss rarely left the HQ, apart from the occasional Western movie revival; a quick call wouldn't interrupt anything. Wendy just needed to see his face and hear his voice for a few seconds, to get her center back. Her finger hovered over the transmit button.

Footsteps coming up the spiral staircase. "Hey, Dubster. We're gonna be late for the dinner reservations," Tyler said.

Tyler Ford in this universe was a newly minted alternative-rock star instead of a starving guitarist. He hadn't changed much to the naked eye. His crisp black curls were cut in the same semi-shaggy style. His deep blue eyes still lit up when he caught sight of her. Even the outfit, black slacks and a casual jacket, was one he'd owned in the original universe. But he was about to leave on a six-week musical tour – _about to_ as in _catching a red-eye flight five hours from now_ – and there was a slightly distracted look in his eyes. Not magic, as with Lacey. Just the mark of a budding workaholic who'd finally found the work he could devote himself to heart and soul. Wendy knew the feeling.

Wendy wiped her eyes. "Hey, Ford-o." She got up, kissed her boyfriend.

"That is one smokin' outfit." Tyler stepped back from the kiss, ran his eyes up and down her. "Definitely your color. And it matches, too."

Wendy scuffed a toe under the bed, looking for the dressy flats she'd laid out a short time ago. "Shoes are here somewhere."

"I mean, it matches this." Tyler held out a palm-sized, black velvet box wrapped in a ribbon.

Wendy smiled. "Thank you." Deep down, she was dreading a repeat of a gift he'd given her in the original universe; a diamond tennis bracelet that had led to disaster.

"I've always dreamed of giving my lady diamonds," Tyler said. "It may not be much – I know you're not the frilly type – but it's a start."

She opened the box. A watch. Silver – or platinum – in a sporty unisex style but clearly feminine. The mother-of-pearl dial was barely the size of a nickel. A tiny diamond replaced each number on the dial; even tinier ones circled the face. "Try it on," Tyler urged.

Wendy clasped it around her left wrist; the sleek band hugged her like a living thing. "It's lovely, Tyler." Her eyes went to her right wrist – the plain steel, loose-banded, oversized Middlewatch that was her link to her job and headquarters. Maybe if she put that one in her purse, she'd still be able to hear the signal...

Tyler's long, lean fingers closed over the Middlewatch. "So you won't need this tonight," he said, and slipped it over her hand.

The Middle-apprentice in her reacted first, mapping out a throat strike against the sudden threat. Wendy got a firm mental grip on herself, and merely grabbed the watch back. "I do need it."

"In case there's a temp-agency emergency?" Tyler joked.

_Yes_. "You know I'm on call," Wendy said, a little irritably.

"You're always on call. You are never off call." Tyler matched her tone. "I know, because about every third date goes south when _he_ calls you and you run off without me. God knows why."

Wendy didn't think it had happened that often. "The work is confidential..."

"And the clients demand discretion, international problem solvers, yadda yadda. Wendy, you're a temp. Which pays like crap, and in exchange for pay-like-crap you're supposed to be able to put it aside at the end of the day. It's not a _career_."

Wendy's temper flared. "Unlike going through sixteen cities in sixteen days to meet sixteen sets of groupies trying to worm their way backstage."

"I _asked_ you to go with me," Tyler shot back. "They owe you some time off."

_Middlemen don't get time off. _One of a thousand things she couldn't say. "They need me."

"Why are we even saying _they_? As far as I can tell this company is one guy, your boss," Tyler snarled. "Calling you out all hours of the day and night on a whim..."

"He doesn't get whims!"

"... and you turn up God-knows-when later, worn out, sometimes bruised up, and you'll never say where you've been or what you've been doing. And whenever _he_ turns up he looks at you all the time, like a dog with a bone. Like a guard dog, more like. What is he to you?" Tyler said hotly. "Is there something I have a right to know about?"

They'd fought before. They'd fought over her work before. Arguments seemed to interrupt nearly as many of her dates as missions, these days. But they'd never descended to this level. "I'm not even going to answer that."

"Uh-huh," Tyler said meaningfully.

"Are you _asking_ me to hit you?"

"I'm asking what _my_ girlfriend is doing hanging on every word of a guy who won't even give out his name..."

"Don't say _mine_ in that tone. Like you've got a pet," Wendy snapped.

"I thought I had a soulmate," Tyler said. Less heat, more sadness. "I thought … Wendy, I was going to ask you to marry me. After I got back from this tour."

"You what?" That had been everything she'd wanted, once. Now her first thought was, c_overing my tracks as a Middleman would be impossible_. "Tyler, it's … I can't marry you."

"Yeah." She could barely hear his voice. "Yeah, I know."

Wendy's eyes blurred. She found the new watch by feel, opened the latch. "I'm sorry, Tyler." Handed it to him.

Tyler Ford looked like she'd struck him. Worse. "So. I guess that's it."

Wendy wanted to touch him, to comfort him. When she didn't, she realized the last time they'd touched had been _the_ last time. She wanted to say she was sorry, but it wouldn't help. "I guess it is." Tyler walked away.

The Creamery

A Free-Range Dairy and Breakfast Restaurant

This Morning

"You didn't say much of that last night," the Middleman said. "Mostly that you'd fought with Lacey, and that you were afraid for me."

Wendy drew circles in her fresh scrambled eggs with her fork tip. "I guess I didn't. Splitting up with Tyler seemed less important than your life being in danger."

"Anything that happens to you is important." The Middleman reached across the little table for her hand. Stopped. "I … made some assumptions, this morning, about your future plans. My role in them. If you want to go back to Tyler, I won't stand in your way."

Wendy shook her head. "There's no going back. In a week we'd be ripping each other up again. He thought he was asking me to choose between you and him. What I actually chose was the job." A crooked smile. "I really am getting to be like a Middleman, aren't I?"

"You always were," he said softly. His big, square hand did close on hers this time. It felt warm. "I knew you would."

Wendy smiled back. "Thanks, boss."

He looked a little blank. "You know my name now."

"Sorry." Wendy still had some limits. "There was this animal show on tv, when I was a kid, with Clarence the Cross-Eyed Lion. That's all I can think of."

"Good heavens, was that still on in your time? Me, too. It made fifth grade fairly difficult. There aren't any good nicknames for Clarence, either."

"People have been known to change their names."

"But it was my father's," the Middleman said. "My grandfather was a lawyer. He named Dad after Clarence Darrow."

After so much aloofness and evasion and outright stonewalling, the sudden font of information was fascinating. "What did your dad do?"

"The same. Nothing exciting – mostly real estate law – but he liked it. Mom was a math teacher. I didn't really take after either of them. I told you about football; that was all I cared about in high school. Joining the Navy was more a default than a reasoned decision, at the time. Though I found my vocation eventually," he said.

Wendy had seen Navy SEALs, from time to time, while she was growing up on military bases with her parents. "I can imagine you in the uniform."

He drained his glass of milk. His plate was already empty, while Wendy's only held a last few bites of egg. "What would you like to do now? I think Ida would be more comfortable if we stayed out of HQ for the moment."

Wendy grinned. "Meatbag cooties. She really did think better of you than that, you know."

"Ida," he said flatly, "will just have to adapt." He looked expectantly at her.

Oh. The question. She'd never actually had the Middleman to herself without a mission to occupy them. He'd said something like that, earlier. "Would you mind going to an art gallery? Joe 90 placed some pieces. It'll do him good if people come see them. We don't have to buy anything."

His expression stiffened; Joe 90 specialized in out-of-scale phallic sculptures. "Too much, too soon?" Wendy asked.

"I said, your choice." But when the Middlewatches made their bork-bork sounds a second later, he looked all too relieved. "Yes, Ida?"

"If you're not too busy violating the laws of God and nature," Ida said sourly, "Roxy Wasserman sent up a flare. Apparently one of her succubi isn't as reformed as advertised, and it's about to sit down to a steak dinner. You're closer than any of her bunch. She needs somebody to buy the sex-crazed idiot human some time until she can whip up a containment spell. You know all about sex-crazed idiot humans, right?"

One corner of his mouth twitched. Coldly, "Just send the address, Ida. We're on our way."

[*]

A quick (but still one mile under the speed limit) car trip left Wendy and her Middleman at the door of a shabby townhouse. He pounded on the door, hard enough to shake it. No answer. "Universal key," he said, and did something to the latch.

The door led into an open ground floor. Living room in the front, kitchen in the back, stairs going up to the left. A moan, not a pleasurable one, drifted down the stairwell. They broke into a run.

The succubus had been impatient, Wendy noted as she came out at the top of the stairs. Blood, a few scarlet drops, on the light-colored carpet outside the bedroom door. Her first couple of encounters with succubi in a bad mood, she'd taken their shark-like teeth as a straightforward danger like, well, shark teeth. She knew now that the teeth were mostly a vector for the demon's venom, which made humans easy prey by bringing irresistible drives to the surface.

The human, male, was lying on top of the succubus, humping away. Oblivious to the fact that they were both fully clothed, just as oblivious to the mouth on his neck sucking away his life's blood. She snarled, red-eyed, at the Middlemen as they entered the room. The Middleman pulled her victim up by his shirt collar and spun him toward a corner. The division of labor was obvious. The Middleman wasn't as strong as a succubus, but he had a far better chance than Wendy did. He hauled the demon to her feet next. She hit him like a pile driver.

"Take it easy, mister," Wendy told the victim in a soothing tone, hoping this would be simple. Instead the thoroughly envenomed man grabbed her with the same intent he'd had toward the succubus. Wendy sighed. She launched into Sensei Ping's Pattern in Amber, finished off with an old-fashioned knee that was more than usually effective. Their rescue-ee curled into a tiny, agonized ball in the corner and whimpered.

When Wendy looked up, the succubus was throttling the Middleman with an efficiency that had turned him purple. His attempts at counterattacks were growing more and more feeble. Wendy, scarlet rising in her vision, pulled out her energy gun and blew a hole in the creature's right leg. It shrieked, bleeding a stinking black fluid, and collapsed. Wendy steadied the Middleman before he could fall too. "Got you." Her hands were shaking. She raised the gun again for a head shot.

"Enough." Almost a croak, but understandable. His hand wrapped around hers on the gun. "She's under Roxy's protection."

"How does _she_ rate protection, with the thing," Wendy waved, "And the deal?" She let the gun fall, stroked his head and neck looking for other injuries.

"The floor's on fire," the Middleman said in a slightly more normal voice.

Where she'd, yeah, fired a class two plasma gun in an enclosed space. Wendy stamped the flaming edges of the hole in the carpet until they stopped burning. Her uniform boots protected her feet, mostly. The paper on the Sheetrock walls smoldered but hadn't actually caught. A smoke detector was screaming in the background, drowning out the wounded succubus. Wendy retrieved her gun.

"Gods of fire," Roxy Wasserman's voice came from the door. "What have you _done_, MM?"

He straightened up. The fashion diva and retired soul-destroyer looked horrified. She studied the wounded demon in more detail, and her own eyes went scarlet. "Kerrin will be days healing that . Why did you use weapons?"

"Your gal-pal was eating a human in our town," Wendy snarled. "She tried for two. I never liked the prom-queen type anyway."

"Regardless of which, the situation was urgent and a human life at risk," the Middleman said quickly. "The pact authorizes us to use force when necessary."

"The letter of the law? From you?" Roxy stepped around them and helped the wounded succubus stand, one arm over Roxy's shoulder.

Wendy gestured to her own mouth. "She's got a little smudge right there." Blood.

Roxy gave her a hard stare. Then looked at the Middleman. "You've stopped starving yourself," the sex demon said with sudden interest. Looked back at Wendy.

His cheekbones colored pink. "Thanks for the assist, Roxy."

"I didn't do it for you." Roxy took the other succubus away without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Middleman, downstairs, opened Wendy's car door for her. He could see that she didn't appreciate the gesture. Her mouth was set in a hard line, gearing up for the Serious Talk that loomed ahead of them. The Middleman sat behind the wheel of their car. He mentally contrasted her sour look to the glowing, sated expression she'd worn only a few hours earlier. _I did that._ A foolish burst of affection and pride and nervousness. He tried to suppress it and go on with his job. "Dubbie."

"Rogue succubus," she said quickly, ticking things off on her fingers. "Stronger than both of us. Killing you. What else was I _supposed_ to do ?"

"I don't question that shot, Dubbie," he said softly. "But you were prepared to kill her as well, even after she was incapacitated."

"I don't know what incapacitated _is_ with one of those. I might have just been pissing her off," Wendy retorted. "I was playing to win. You've got another idea?"

"No." He sighed. "I don't want our new situation to adversely affect the job." If it did, he'd have to give her up. And apart from the difficulty of saying 'no' to Dubbie, he didn't want to. The feeling of comfort in his own body, the sense of rightness about their whole relationship... He'd lost that once, along with so much else. He didn't know if he had the courage to give it up again in cold blood. "You can't let what's between us now make you overprotective. Or afraid."

"Yeah." Wendy was staring at the glove compartment in front of her. With forced lightness, "It's no big deal."

"I don't mean that. You always were, always will be, tremendously important to me."

Her fists clenched. Something was clearly still upsetting her, but she didn't seem to want to discuss it. He used what he knew all too well was a rudimentary sense for detecting what women wanted, and decided to follow her lead. "You're right about the succubus," he said, glad for a topic he could discuss without reserve. "I wouldn't have had a wooden nickel's chance without you stepping in; she got inside my guard. All I'm saying is that the _coup de grace_ would have been, well, overkill. Always keep our rules of engagement in mind – exactly as much force as the situation requires, no more. We can go over succubi attack patterns in the dojo later, if you like." He rubbed the side of his throat. "The subject does keep coming up."

Wendy took a breath. "That seems like a good idea to me," she said, in something much more like her normal tone of voice. Then she smiled a little. "But if you think a near-death experience is getting you out of visiting the art gallery, you can have another guess."

[*]

The familiar artistic environment seemed to ground Wendy, help her come back to herself after the stress of battle and emotion. He'd face far worse than homoerotic statuary to reach that goal. This gallery was in an old building downtown, all high patterned-tin ceilings and antique woodwork with pieces displayed on individual plinths and easels. She loyally went and admired her neighbor's ultra-modern 'objects' where the clerk at the desk could see her. "Most of this stuff is better than Joe's," she whispered. "Classy. I doubt he'll keep his spot for long."

The Middleman nodded slightly. "Should we look at these other things?" The fine arts weren't really his area, but he resolved to give each piece a fair chance.

"Okay." A pause. "But if I hear the words 'Thomas Kinkade' pass your lips, I'm taking the Middlemobile and leaving you stranded."

Wendy wandered off in her own direction in the small space. Studying artistic techniques good and bad, the Middleman guessed. She was surely getting more out of the gallery than he was. Nothing here had an Old West theme, which was his first thought. Only one piece, a tall narrow canvas about the size of two hardcover books, really caught his eye.

An Apollo-era LEM sitting on a flat lunar plain; the topography of the terrain most closely matched Apollo 14. The colors, in vacuum, were unnaturally bright and stark. The entire rest of the human race was above them and apart, on the Earth that shone straight overhead like a more colorful quarter-moon.

Wendy saw him stop and came over to join him. "Is this good?" the Middleman asked in a whisper. By her expression, he at least hadn't disgraced himself utterly as an art customer.

"If you like it, it's good. What do you like about it?" Wendy asked.

His eyes were fixed on the two tiny, stiff space suits at the corner of the LEM. "Look how alone they are."

She looked, thoughtfully, and smiled a little. "This will sell fast," Wendy whispered back. "If you want it, I'd grab it now."

[*]

Ida avoided them when they returned to HQ. The Middleman was careful with the acrylic painting. Wendy had shown him how to carry it without damaging it. "It needs a frame before long to prevent warping," she said. "But it'll be all right for a little while. Where do you want it?"

"My room," the Middleman said. "I've never shown you where I live, have I?"

"Not in what is about to be an entire year," Wendy agreed.

"Then I think it's time." He headed toward the stairs.

He lived on the fifth level, counting from the ground floor, along a narrow corridor that might as well have held file rooms. No visible lock on the doorknob, but a glass plate above it with a human hand outline. "Put your hand there." When Wendy did, he took a small remote off his belt and punched a button. The door opened. "You're authorized now. But it would be polite to look over the door when you come up." A small row of colored lights, all unlit. "The red light is 'do not disturb.' I don't use it much."

"What would you use it for?" she blurted.

The Middleman didn't take offense. "Maybe," almost shyly, "that could change."

Wendy entered his room for the first time, looked around with her artist's eye, and crossed her arms. "Two words," she said. "Dorm furniture."

The Middleman tried to see it through her eyes. He'd never felt any dissatisfaction with this space. The room was fairly sizable, maybe fifteen by twenty, with a row of windows at the far end. A couch, small end tables, and a television were set up living-room style at the end near the entrance. Further in was his bed, another end table serving as a nightstand, a bookshelf for his books and DVDs and a little music. Closet door, bathroom door. How much room did one person need?

But she was right. The furniture had a hand-me-down quality associated with college and other first apartments. Battered headboard over the double bed, elderly couch, tube television.

"This is where you live?" Wendy asked. He nodded. "But it's not where the two of you lived."

Raveena. Wendy was clearly still sensitive about the comparison. He was suddenly glad he'd gotten rid of most of their shared belongings in his first grief. He couldn't imagine bringing Dubbie to a bed Raveena had used.

"We had a house," he said. "Until she was too sick. Then she was in the infirmary, downstairs – better there than a normal hospital. Not better enough for a cure, but at least more comfortable."

"I would have thought our mysterious bosses could cure anything," Wendy said. "It seems a little weird."

"Our infirmary is splendidly equipped for gunshot wounds and other traumatic injuries," the Middleman said. "For subtler problems – the equipment wasn't designed by, or for, human beings. We didn't realize that limitation ourselves until … until it mattered." He sighed. "After it was over, I couldn't stand to keep the things that we'd had together. I didn't put much thought into this place." He looked around again. Thought of the comfortable, colorful nest she and Lacey had achieved at their sublet with no more funds."Witness protection suite two is actually better, isn't it? I didn't think … I wouldn't expect you to spend much time here. Anyone to spend much time here." He certainly didn't.

"How long has it been since you lost her?" Wendy asked quietly.

"Four years, six months." Instantly; he didn't have to think about the figure.

Wendy took his hands. "You should still take better care of yourself. That couch goes back to Captain Sparks, doesn't it?"

He'd taken the old family couch for a makeshift, the first off-base apartment he furnished. The pebbly brown nap still had a few straggling red hairs woven in. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Wendy sighed. "I'm sure he was a very nice dog. Let's risk it." She sat down. The Middleman found a place beside her, not touching. She looked for a neutral topic, nodded toward the television. "Cowboy movies?" A player, for both discs and videotapes, rested on a shelf underneath it.

"And some music. Mostly country." He knew their tastes differed. "Sorry."

"I'm not trying to boss you around," Wendy said sympathetically. "That's out of line. But this makes me want to run out and buy you all new stuff. You deserve better." A thought occurred. "Have you got any money?"

He nodded. "More than you'd think. I haven't spent much pay lately."

Wendy visibly restrained herself from reciting _four years, six months_ back at him. "You see why I worry."

A small smile. "I've taken care of myself this long, Dubbie."

Her eyes were still troubled. "Partners look after each other."

"I know my life has to change," he said carefully. "That was clear during the Fatboy Apocalypse. It's a new world." He laid an arm across the back of the couch, behind her but not touching her; the awkwardness made him feel sixteen. "I'm very happy you're one of the new chances that has come with it."

"I'm here for the whole game," Wendy said lightly.

She seemed receptive; when he leaned in closer her lips came to meet him. Her hands cradled the back of his head. He made a mental note to ask if the gel in his hair bothered her. She didn't complain right now, at least. He reveled in the warmth, the human contact. The contrast between this and the rest of his life for so long struck him like a physical blow.

He let the kiss end. Just because they were alone together in a room with a bed didn't have to lead to unbridled sex. Not every time, at least. Wendy made a low, contented noise and leaned her forehead against his. "Mmm. Nice."

He ventured a joke. "Glad I could help out, ma'am."

"I can't believe it took me this long to see you." Wendy nuzzled his cheek. "I have a question. If there's one apartment up here there must be two, right? Just like, two of everything in the locker room."

"There is another one. And it's yours by right, if you want it." The thought of Wendy moving into HQ, even part time, was half ecstatic and half troubling. He couldn't decide why at first. "Dubbie, your mental flexibility – your ability to engage with the world both as a Middleman and in your civilian life – is one of your great strengths. I don't want to impose any kind of expectation..."

"Show me," she said, sitting up.

The next door, at the end of the hall, had an identical palm reader over the doorknob. Again, he set it to open to Wendy's hand. "Here we are."

The same room, completely empty and kept dust-free by Interrodroid. Only the doors to the closet and bathroom were on the left side, looking from the entrance, instead of the right. Too, this room was at the corner of the building. The right-hand wall as well as the back wall had a row of windows. Wendy stepped a little further into the room. "This is nicer. You should have taken this one." She waved at the extra windows. "There's north light. I could actually paint here." That piece of enthusiasm sounded genuine. Why did he have the feeling she'd have manufactured some whether she felt it or not?

"Dubbie. Wendy." The formality got her attention. "You don't have to move in because we're together. You don't need to become more like me; you're magnificent as you are. If anything, I need to learn from you."

Wendy looked troubled. All he could think about was that somehow what they'd done, what he'd done, had made her unsure of herself. But he saw her tamp the emotion back down. "I'm nothing special." Before he could argue, Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

As hints went, it was hard to miss. His arms went around her in return. Her light weight would be easy to lift but he bent down to meet her instead. His good resolutions were wavering. "Your room," Wendy said, in a tone that was almost an order.

He wanted to, with a hunger as intense as physical pain. But his instincts were screaming at him. He got his lips free. "This is a lot for me to take in, Dubbie. Yesterday... last night … twelve _hours_ ago I'd never thought seriously that we could be together. Five hours. Now," he nodded at the room in general, "you're considering real estate. Let's take this a little slower."

Wendy hadn't let go of his shoulders. "Isn't it a little late to go slow?" she asked, archly.

He'd been trained to memorize a crime scene in a fraction of a second. He'd had many times that to learn the look of her face in ecstasy, the feel of her bare skin. The Middleman's cheeks felt hot but he went on, "I don't think so. You're too important to me, both personally and for the job, to give any less than my best."

She let go suddenly, went to a window. "I didn't ask for your best," Wendy said tightly, not looking at him. "I didn't ask at all – threw myself at your head is more like it. I guess that makes me pretty cheap."

"Dubbie." When he followed her to the windows she stiffened.

"Don't, okay? Just don't."

He moved around her, seeking eye contact; she turned again. "Wendy?"

"It's nothing."

"Hammer of Peter Cushing, Dubbie, even I'm not _that_ bad at emotional and contextual cues. Tell me what's wrong."

She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes and nose. "I'm not going to tie you down, okay? Don't go all guilty at me. I can deal with being just a partner and, and..." Her voice cut off while she could still control it.

"And?" She couldn't have confused him more if she'd sprouted wings.

She turned. Bit out two hot, bitter words, "Third place."

The Middleman stared. She gave him a furious look and ticked off fingers again. "Raveena Rao. Lacey Thornfield." When the third finger came up, her hand shook. "Consolation prize." He tried to capture the hand; she shook him off. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me!"

"I won't. I don't. Dubbie ..." She made a ferocious keep-away gesture, turned to face out the window.

He only had words, to make things right, and words had always been a clumsy tool for him. "I know my romantic history has been all too much in mind lately," he said. "That can't be easy for you, so close to … today. Lacey. I don't apologize for having feelings for her. You know how she deserves it – you love her more than I ever did. But it was still a mistake. Not because of who she is, because of who I am. We would have made each other miserable in the end."

Still facing away, Wendy held up her index finger. Raveena. "Raveena is not a rival to you," he said.

"Yeah?" Wendy turned on him, eyes blazing. "You lost her and you hired me. You put me in her job. In her clothes." The uniform jacket Wendy had worn until two months ago. "She was your true love, you wanted to _die_ to be with her, and instead you got me." Choking, "I even look like her, a little. Perfectly understandable mixup." Pain crossed her face. "And I promised myself I was never, ever going to ask for more than you were willing to give."

A quiet sob. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she punched him. He barely diverted the surprise blow in time.

"Don't touch me. Don't look at me," Wendy said thickly. "It feels like you love me when you do that. But that's a lie. And you know the worst part? Part of me doesn't care." A choked, bitter sound. "Yes, you are that hot. I did you, I'd do you again, even knowing who you really see when you close your eyes." She slouched, looking down at her own boots.

Nothing but the truth would do her justice, or give her any comfort. "I will always love Raveena," the Middleman said. "She made me who I am. She deserved love, and I was happy to give it. But she's gone." Wendy was listening, at least, but he couldn't judge the effect this was having.

"Gone where time has no meaning or relevance. Yes, for a long time I behaved as if she was waiting for me. Maybe even impatient. But I was wrong. The dead need nothing from us, except to be remembered. I can remember what was, and still love someone else. I can love you."

"You've never said you do," Wendy said without looking at him. "You're too honest for that."

"I haven't?" But he knew she was being accurate. "I love you as my partner. As my friend, unlikely as that seemed at first. As the woman who saved my life this morning. The deepest kind of love … I don't know if that's here yet. I'm very bad at defining feelings. But I feel there's a real chance, if you let there be. If you want there to be. For my part, I would... would like that very much."

She stood a little straighter, at least. She turned, met his eyes.

"Let me date you, Wendy Watson," the Middleman said. "Just for a while. Let things grow between us, the way we've never let them grow. And we'll see what happens. If I'm wrong, if I can't give you what you deserve, I promise to say so."

Wendy gave a crooked sort-of-smile. "You don't do anything small, do you?"

"You're too important for small stakes."

She looked thoughtful."You said once, our lives are intertwined. Even before the sexing."

"I remember saying it. Wasn't I right?"

Wendy laid her hand over his, so lightly he could barely feel her. "So. Boss. What do I do now?"

He wanted to hold her. But making her rely on him for emotional support contradicted everything he'd just said. There was no way forward for them, except an equal partnership. "It was hard for me, too. When Raveena and I first got together. We'd been partners, as Middlemen, for over two years before we admitted how we felt for each other. I can't say it didn't interfere with the chain of command … I've told you I had problems with authority. It took us time to find the balance, between the personal and the mission."

"But worth it?" Wendy asked.

He wrapped his hands around hers. "Very much so."

"You're always going to miss her," Wendy said flatly.

"I am. But I've decided to carry on with my life. New world, new chances," the Middleman repeated. "Trust me and see. More importantly, trust yourself."

"So … _you're_ not the one to ask, what am I going to do." Wendy stood up straighter. "Unless we get another red ball today, I should go home. Reconnect with Lace. She's got to know about this mess with Tyler, he's her friend too." A more ordinary expression of concern crossed her face. "I'm out of clean laundry. We're out of milk. Stuff like that. As Lacey's new age friends would say, I've got to ground and center. I haven't been out of arm's reach of you since..." Her cheeks colored.

He couldn't help smiling a little. "Since five or six hours before that. I think your idea is a sound one, Dubbie. Find your balance. Then decide where I fit into your life. I'll be here."

"You're always here. How does that go with the advice to have a normal life?

"Badly," he admitted. "But, one thing at a time."

Wendy watched the Middleman's face – she was really seeing _him_ now, not her own fears – and stretched up for another kiss. Lighter this time, less urgent, but with a matching decrease in desperation. "If I decompress, you should too," she said. "A movie. A walk. Whatever it is you do. Make up something."

He ran his hands over her shoulders, and let go. "Take good care of my partner for me."

[*]

When she was gone, he wandered back to his own room. The space did seem smaller, without Dubbie there. Drab. The new painting was a splash of, if not color, liveliness. A hint of the outside world he'd all but ignored, except when it was in mortal danger.

He sat down on the side of the bed. When he first began sleeping here, while Raveena was dying, the prospect of loss had made it too painful for him to keep her picture on display. The loss itself, when it came, was worse. At times, going through the wilderness of grief, he hadn't been able to look at her without breaking down. He opened an otherwise-empty drawer in the bedside table, took out a picture in a plain wooden frame.

"You were right," he said quietly. "You generally are."

_You'll make a wonderful Middleman,_ Raveena's ghost had said, after the battle, when he had a moment to introduce her to Wendy. But she'd communicated more than that, under Wendy's nose. A fond, exasperated look that his experienced eye recognized as _Clarence, you fool._

His heart had been full of Lacey, at the time. He'd thought that Raveena misinterpreted the situation between him and Wendy; if he hadn't been facing the imminent prospect of the afterlife himself he would have said something. Now, he smiled slightly at the still image.

"Maybe the right kind of fool, finally," he said. "Rest well. I love you."

Author's note: The painting in question is "Moonwalkers" by David Lee Anderson, on display at his web site.


	4. Chapter 4

]Chapter Four

Wendy returned to her sublet in, for lack of better options, the dress she'd slept in last night. She was conscious of the 'walk of shame' look. Luckily, Noser wasn't playing guitar at his usual spot in the hallway. She'd left by the fire escape last night, after Tyler, to avoid that conversation.

She slipped into the sublet, hoping her luck would hold. Instead Lacey was stirring a huge pot in the kitchen. Wendy caught the scent of homemade fake blood. "Dub-Dub!" her roommate said. "I was starting to worry."

And this conversation, too. "Hi, Lacey." Wendy set her tiny dress purse on the kitchen counter. "I've been busy." The understatement of a lifetime.

Lacey looked her up and down. "Sex wrinkles in the dress, glum expression, aura lit up like a Christmas tree – what's going on, sweetie? Is it Tyler?"

She remembered Tyler, at a distance that felt like years. "He's gone."

"Well yeah, the tour … wait. Gone as in gone, out of your life gone?" Lacey's eyes went wide.

"He is if he listened to me," Wendy said. She kicked out of the dress shoes. "I need a change of clothes."

"Oh no you don't, lady." Lacey wiped her hands on her shorts, heedless of the fake-blood stains. She took Wendy by the elbow and led her to the couch. "Give. What happened?'

"Pretty much what's been happening." Wendy's memory of this universe went back a little less than a month, to Armageddon Day. But the balance between her and Tyler had been shifting even then, under the pressure of his supernaturally-sudden musical success. "Tennis Bracelet Guy."

"The wha?'

That hadn't happened in this universe. "Suppose … suppose Tyler had a great job in an office somewhere. And the first thing he does is give me a diamond tennis bracelet. Lab created diamonds," she added, remembering Lacey's views. "But the point is, I am the last person in the world to want, to need a tennis bracelet. And he doesn't see that, because _he_ wants to give it to me."

"He's just trying to make you happy," Lacey said.

"By giving me what I'm supposed to want, yeah." Wendy sighed. "Never mind the tennis bracelet. There is no tennis bracelet. But diamonds, on a watch. He wanted me to give the other one up."

Lacey looked down at Wendy's wrist. "You've gotta admit, it looks like you got it from a particularly butch fighter pilot."

Navy SEAL. Wendy didn't say it. "But I need it for work, and he knows that too. He … the whole thing was just closing in on me. Who I'm supposed to be, who I might be, who I actually am. I got mad, and I called it off."

Lacey put an arm around her shoulders for a half-hug. Fortunately the fake blood went on Wendy's skin rather than the much-abused dress. "Everybody has moments like that, Dub-Dub. You work it out. You use your words."

"My words turned out to be goodbye," Wendy said. "Trust me. I can't explain it all, but I'm not going back. I don't even want to." She breathed. "I know where I belong now."

"In front of a firing squad?" Lacey said.

"No. I think this is going to be good, actually. It's complicated." Though death did enter into it, sooner or later. Wendy called on the memory of the moments of orgasm like a good-luck charm. "There's another guy." She couldn't bear the magic-induced vagueness that always came over Lacey at the mention of the Middleman. "You don't know him." That, at least, had always been true.

Lacey stared. "You were cheating on Tyler?"

"No." Not quite. "Sort of a … rebound thing. But he's been a good friend for a long time. At work." That was nonspecific enough; Lacey's eyes remained keen. "He needs me, Lace."

Her friend's eyes sharpened more, this time with anger. "Wait a minute. You broke up with Tyler and the same night this other guy is handing you lines about needing you? Doesn't sound like much of a friend to me. Sounds like a doorknob."

"He didn't say he needs me. I pushed him into bed, not the other way around." Which sounded terrible. Wendy reached for the memory again. "I needed something warm. And he cares, and he's way too nice to make a 'no' stick. I admit it's selfish of me. But it's not _all_ like that. We can be good for each other. He's …" Words failed. 'Broken' didn't do justice to the good he'd created out of his own pain. "He lost somebody too. Longer ago. She died."

"Double rebound." Lacey hugged her. "Oh, Dub-Dub. There's not going to be any talking you out of this, is there? I know that I-will-survive look. You're just going to have to work all the way through this one. Is he good to you, at least? Tommy Tam said such mean things toward the end."

"He's sweet." Wendy smiled helplessly. "He can't even bring himself to swear. But he's not weak, he's the bravest man I know."

"Does he love you?"

Wendy took another measured breath. "More than I love him, to be honest. That's just how he is. I'm trying … it's too soon to plan anything. I think we can make each other happy, if we just keep it loose. Friendly."

"Yeah, like you've ever been casual about a guy. Even those lightweights that didn't deserve you." Lacey studied her. "Is he going to take care of you, or am I going to have to get rough with him?"

That question, Wendy knew the answer to. "Better," she said. "He's not going to rest until I can take care of myself."

[*]

Wendy showered, and changed, and set a new canvas on her easel upstairs. The only painting she could think of was someone else's work, the tiny, remote astronauts her Middleman had zeroed in on in the gallery. She supposed that astronauts, especially in their golden age, were enough like Middlemen for him to identify with.

The other image in her mind was one she'd felt, not seen from outside; their two bodies fused in passion. But her classical realism wasn't good enough to capture that. She traced a line in the air that might be his back arching above her, stopped short of letting brush touch canvas. If she couldn't do it right, there was no point in doing it at all. Like so much else in life.

Wendy turned away from the canvas and occupied herself straightening up her room. She found a few of Tyler's belongings as she went, not many. Classic comics, one sock, a long t-shirt she often slept in. She'd have to wash that before returning it. When Tyler was in town at all, to return things to.

Tyler had been the perfect soulmate – for Wendy Watson, rootless and ironic temp worker. He'd never met the Wendy she was now, the Middleman's apprentice. The soldier. _It's not Tyler I gave up. It's me, or the old me._ Wendy wondered how long this had been building. The back of her mind answered, _since before I met Tyler_. Since the day she'd stabbed a multi-tentacled alien with a letter opener instead of collapsing in terror. She couldn't stop being that person, any more than she could stop breathing.

She turned back to her canvas with renewed energy. Slowly, with many pauses for thought, she blocked out a simpler image. A man's hands, at rest on a table. Vividly, lovingly detailed down to the tiny golden hairs on the backs of the fingers. She didn't need a model; he was as clear in her mind as if he was standing there.

Painting. Laundry. Lunch. She was watching "Zombie Nightmare," the robot-assisted version, when her watch borked at her. "Yeah, boss?" The semi-serious title still felt most natural to her.

"I need you to pack a bag and come back here." The Middleman seemed to realize how that sounded; his cheeks colored a little. "That is, there's a red ball. An alien was murdered in Texas."

"I take it we're not talking Latino."

"Clotharian."

The alien race that had inflicted a tyrannical extraterrestrial boy band on the Earth, and later tried to destroy it starting with Middle HQ. "My favorites." She grimaced. "I can be ready in ten minutes or so. Pick me up?'

"That'll save time. We can go straight to the airport," the Middleman said.

[*]

Wendy met him downstairs, at street level, instead of letting the Middleman come up to her apartment. Already in uniform, she set a gym bag on the back seat of the Middlemobile. Two uniforms, one set of civilian clothes, a toothbrush, little else. "Hey, Boss."

"Hello." He sat behind the wheel of the car. He didn't try to give her any lover's greeting, but a small smile lit his face. The Middleman looked … vivid. More solid and real than an ordinary human being. Larger than life, in a way only marginally connected to his physical size.

Wendy wanted to touch him. But they were working. "You mentioned the airport. Commercial flight?"

"Heavens, no. Another middle-vehicle, one that's less conspicuous than the Harrier jet." He pulled away from the curb.

_I missed you._ Wendy didn't say it. She couldn't decide if that feeling was a good thing or an ominous sign of over-dependence. "I just told Lacey I had a business trip," she said instead. "It's not like I could have said much more even before … you know. That, and I told her I'm seeing a new guy whose name I didn't mention. She's worried about rebound."

"Are you worried?" His tone was almost normal. He had to drive, but he spared her a second of eye contact, nothing hidden.

Wendy breathed. "I'm not, actually. We've been together in so many ways already … it's not a surprise. A change, yes, but not a deep-down change."

His smile widened. "Thank you," he said simply. "Whether this works or not, thank you."

[*]

They went to a section of airport devoted to light planes. "It's a Cessna 210, to all appearances," The Middleman said. "The reality is a little different." The six-seat plane was tidy but far from new.

He took the second seat in front, left the pilot's space for Wendy. "I'm driving?" she asked as she put her bag further back.

The Middleman looked mildly embarrassed. "I can't actually fly an aircraft."

Wendy put on headphones and got in touch with the tower. The flight plan was already laid out. She got in the air quickly. Flying aircraft was something she truly enjoyed. "ETA, five hours," she said when they were at cruising altitude. "I wish this thing had an autopilot.'

"A lot you know." Ida's voice came from the control panel. "Watch and learn, stoner. ETA, _two_ hours." The controls took over all by themselves.

Wendy let go experimentally; the plane stayed in level flight. "Handy," she said. "So, tell me more about this case."

The Middleman flipped a control on the dash; part of the aircraft windshield became a video screen. "There's a small Clotharian enclave in the Big Bend region of Texas," he said. The view screen showed a map. "They're disguised as an Indian reservation for a Navajo-related tribe. A Middleman arranged the paperwork for them in 1873. It's really a religious retreat, mostly pacifists fleeing their series of civil wars. A few hundred Clotharians all together. One of the recent arrivals, Lesclane of Zanker, was found dead this morning. He was killed by a water gun full of vinegar; Clotharians are lethally allergic to acetic acid. The method suggests a human murderer – one who is aware of the alien nature of the reservation."

"So the Clotharians called us to straighten it out," Wendy said.

"Not exactly. The Middle-organization has a human liaison in the area. Beth Bayton Ellis." The view screen showed a vigorous, smiling woman around age seventy with long silver hair braided around her head. Another picture, several decades younger, of the same woman with dark hair and a familiar uniform. "Hired as the Middle-trainee in 1970, resigned in 1972 without reaching the position of Middleman."

"I guess we don't all make the grade," Wendy said thoughtfully.

"She had an excellent record as a trainee. She resigned to get married," the Middleman said. "In fact, she emphasized in her incident report today that her husband remains unaware of her Middle-activities. So, cover identities for both of us are mandatory. By the same token, Mrs. Ellis has a cover for her liaison work – she's the staff nurse at a medical clinic on the edge of the reservation."

"I could never do that," Wendy said.

"Do you mean, leave O2STK? Or, conceal covert activities from a life partner?" the Middleman asked.

"Both." The sense of purpose, the thrill of doing a job no one else could do, were like oxygen to her now. "Either." Wendy remembered the few brief months she'd tried to hide things from Tyler. "But … people do, don't they? Lie. Guy Goddard was married umpteen times as a Middleman, if you believe him." Her Middleman nodded.

"Lucky us we've got another choice; each other." Wendy stopped. That had sounded much less crass in her head. "Not that you settled. With her, I mean. Not that I'm settling... I mean..."

The Middleman let her off the hook. "I see the awkwardness. It's one reason I tried to convince myself, for a long time, that you were the little sister I never had." His hand brushed hers, enough to convey he meant no such thing now. "But be assured, I chose you on merit rather than by the potential for prurient interest." He shrugged. "You mentioned Guy … you faced him down, at the end, with nothing but your wits. A full-fledged Middleman. No one, man or woman, who was less than fully qualified could have done that."

"I know." Wendy looked at him. "It's all got a price, coming or going. This Beth gave up being Middleman for love. Guy gave up love – honest love, anyway – to be Middleman. We can work, we can be honest, but we might see each other die one day. It's the job."

"Not just the job," the Middleman said. Wendy waited for him to continue; instead he put a map up on the video screen. "The reservation has always been peaceful until now," he said. "Once we're oriented and briefed to local conditions, we'll have our work cut out for us. We can't eliminate the Clotharian residents as suspects. A very careful Clotharian could handle vinegar with the same precautions a human would use for sulfuric acid. It might even have been an accident, as unlikely as it sounds. "

"So we get to be Sherlock Holmes," Wendy said. "Or, you do, and I get to be Watson." She smiled. "I always wondered about those two."

He looked genuinely scandalized. "Sign of the Four, Dubbie - Doctor Watson was married at least twice. To women, I mean."

"Yeah, like that proves anything." Wendy's smile became a grin. "Speaking of getting up in your face - Mile High Club?"

He didn't look tempted. "I'd prefer a more comfortable environment, for both of us."

"Oh, come on." Wendy kept prodding, mostly to see how the Middleman reacted. "Autopilot. Nothing to do. Privacy." She reached for him.

And her hands were caught in a gentle, unbreakable grip. "Later." His lips skimmed lightly over the knuckles of one hand. Wendy made a small, uncontrolled sound. "Somewhere with no hurry." He turned her arm, laid a kiss on the soft inner side of her wrist. "No distractions." A longer kiss, with a distinct tongue-touch in the same place. "I don't think you'll be disappointed." He backed up an inch, breathed on the damp spot. Wendy shivered all over.

She got her hands back, sat dazed. "Yeah. You're probably ... that sounds like a good idea." The Middleman grinned back at her and stayed on his own side of the cockpit.

[*]


End file.
